Lethe
by DoceoPercepto
Summary: While an intergalactic war between Nightmare, Zero, and the GSA wages, Kirby and Marx search both for Kirby's origin and something else Marx won't tell Kirby about. Meta Knight falls in with strange company, and Dreamland prepares itself for attack. AU, gijinka (humanized), sequel to Leech
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Hello children.

This is _Lethe_, the sequel to my story _Leech_. It takes place about one year from Leech. For those that have not read Leech, you can either go back and read that story, or read the summary on my profile page. I prefer you read the summary, only because the writing of Leech is…. Spotty. Alternately, you could start here and try to catch up ;]

Warning: I'm Doceo. Try not to shoot yourself before things get better.

**Lethe**

**Chapter 1**

_"Are you and I perchance caught up in a dream from which we have not yet awakened?" - Chuang Tzu_

"There's something on the radar."

_No, please go away..._ He squeezed his eyes shut tighter. With his knees hugged to his chest and his back pressed against the cold metal wall, it was impossible to sleep. This did not stop him from trying.

"Kirby, _I said_, there's something on the radar." Danger in each syllable.

"Is it an asteroid?" Kirby forced himself to say.

"Planet," Marx replied excitedly, again proving his moods were as malleable as water and could, in a heartbeat, transform from calm seas to catastrophic storms and back. As if there hadn't been enough proof in the past.

Dully, "is it taken by Dark Matter?"

With an escalating tone, Marx answered, "newp! Kay, it's civilized!"

Kirby's head jerked up, he suddenly wide-awake. There was never a civilized, non-hostile planet. For months, not one. They needed one though: they were running out of everything. He hurried to Marx's side, whom leaned fixedly over the controls, palms flat on the dials, and his purple eyes eagerly scanning the Halberd's radar. There was a certain natural joy in his demeanor which Kirby had not witnessed for a while, and he was instantly yearning to share in it.

"What's the planet?" he breathed. "How have they held out so long?"

"A lot of planets have held out all this time; otherwise there would be no resistance," Marx snapped, "we just haven't come across them. They must have better defenses. It might even be a base for the GSA." Thoughtfully Marx navigated the control board with his thin fingers, hunting for the information needed.

"A GSA base? I thought we were avoiding alliances in the war. What if we're attacked?"

"Psh, then we annihilate them. Have you _seen_ the ship we're in? Although..." Marx frowned and trailed off.

Unspoken, the previously uplifting mood soured sharply. A coil of tension settled in the pit of Kirby's stomach, and he didn't dare reply quite yet. Only the tapping of buttons and the ceaseless hum of five engines pervaded the room.

"...Nashira," Marx finally said. "That's the planet name... Hm, the major city... run by an earl..." Something was off; Marx looked uneasy.

"How far?" Kirby whispered.

"It's... I don't..." Puzzled, he reverted to fiddling with the controls again. His eyes, narrowed in confusion, flicked between the radar and the windshield. "There's something wrong."

Cautiously Kirby stood on his toes and peered over Marx's shoulder. He didn't understand as much about the ship as Marx did, but after spending so much time on this deck with him, he'd gained a basic grasp on the controls. He, at least, comprehended what the two radars were supposed to be doing, and the appearance of various items on them. One was a weaker radar; giving general impressions of where things were, but also sensing objects at much greater distances and at much higher masses - like planets. The other was for shorter distances but precise coordinates, and was more often used when detecting other nearby ships or navigating the surface of a planet.

Soon Kirby located the planet Marx must be talking about; it appeared as an enormous yellow mass against the green background, positioned at the far right and top of the general radar.

Then, even as he watched, it blinked out. Startled, Kirby squinted at the display. The dot reappeared, this time at the bottom left side of the screen. Much in imitation of Marx, Kirby glanced at the windshield. Endless black space, as usual... Though there was a lighter spot, directly in their path.

The dot changed again, this time blinking directly in front of the ship's location. According to the radar, they were about to collide with a planet.

Kirby reeled away reflexively, eyes jerking up - and seeing nothing in the space. If they were about to collide with the planet, then it was completely invisible. And lacking an atmosphere and gravity, since the Halberd's movement didn't change.

"Well," Marx said flatly. The dot on the radar moved to the far left again. "Apparently... we have a migrating planet."

"What does that mean?"

A stern female voice, projecting over the intercom, interrupted Marx before he could provide a snarky response.

"You have entered Neutral Territory. Unregistered alien warships will be shot down without hesitation unless you provide certification. You have one minute."

Kirby and Marx's gazes met with rivaling expressions of shock.

"One minute?" Kirby said hoarsely.

"It's not a GSA base!" Marx declared, oxymoronically happy considering the situation.

"But they're gonna kill us!"

Marx's hand lashed out and he brought the small intercom close to his lips. His eyes narrowed, his entire focus suddenly directed at the current task. He said into the machine, "I suggest you rethink that decision."

The apparent malice and superiority, even directed at someone else, sent a shiver down Kirby's spine. He didn't dare ask what Marx was doing, even though he was sure resisting these 'Neutral Territory' policies was suicidal.

A pause. Marx's self-assured smirk remained.

The female voice sounded less mechanical when the intercom next crackled to life. "Identify yourself."

"I'm just a messenger - there's important information for the earl."

Instantly, the voice retaliated, "Messengers do not come with threats, nor warships. Twenty-six seconds to turn around."

Marx laughed brusquely. "I was instructed to use any means possible to get on the planet. On short notice, I had no choice _but _to take an ally's warship. This is _very_ important information."

"Who do you consider your ally?" the tone still had not changed, and if Kirby was not so frightened he might respect the operator for her inability to be convinced.

In no hurry to answer - despite Kirby whining softly at his side - Marx leaned against the control board casually. "The minute is up. Either let us pass or shoot us down - if you choose the latter, then don't blame my dead body for the destruction of your planet!"

"Cease advancing and we can talk," the operator relented, albeit with an angry undertone.

"I don't think you're in any position to negotiate."

"Marx," Kirby hissed under his breath. "Just stop! I'm sure she'll let us go when we-nnfffrhhg." Kirby glared fiercely when Marx slapped his free hand across his mouth.

"There are five K-31 warships with canons trained on yours. Rethink _your_ position," the operator flatly replied.

"Ohh," Marx's eyes widened. "Did I not make my position clear? _I'm on top_."

A crack tore through the air, louder than lightening, and perfectly audible even through the Halberd's hull. The entire ship lurched violently to the right. Marx rapidly let go of Kirby and grabbed the control board; Kirby, meanwhile, crashed to the floor and had to scramble up again.

"Idiot!" Kirby said the word before thinking about it, and decided all things considered, he'd rather get Marx angry at him than be blown to pieces in space.

"Warning shot," Marx snapped back, his thumb hovering over the button to speak to the operator again.

"Warning shot? They're gonna kill us!" he grabbed the intercom.

Marx growled at him. "Hey! I can't help it they have a terrible sense of humor! You just - that's mine!" The intercom was nearly pried from Marx's fingers when the jester grabbed his throat and twisted around so Kirby was pinned to the control board - narrowly avoiding the button that released missiles.

"Stop advancing!" the operator shouted. "We will not hesitate to shoot you down!"

Trembling, Kirby choked out, "please, s-stop... they'll kill us."

Marx leered at him. With one hand still loosely holding down Kirby, he replied, "I'll only repeat myself one more time. I have critical information to give to the earl. There's no time to wait. It must be _immediately_. If you stop me, your planet will be destroyed."

Though he spoke to the operator, his purple eyes remained uncannily pinned on Kirby throughout the entire message.

There was a tense silence. Kirby didn't dare move yet, wildly imagining that the last thing he'd feel was Marx's hand wrapped around his throat.

Then, at last; "follow the marker on your radar. It's the fastest way to the earl. Soldiers will be waiting."

The connection ceased, and it was silent in the Halberd.

"She believed you?" Kirby squawked.

"And you doubted me. What else is new?" Marx shoved him away from the controls so he could study the radar. Nashira had reappeared, along with the much smaller marks of numerous ships around them. The Halberd's computers also now displayed a small section of the planet, complete with a black dot marking where they ought to land.

Kirby exhaled slowly. The threat of imminent death had passed, though his trembling lingered. "Now you have to speak to this king, though..."

"Earl. You're still doubting my powers of persuasion?"

Not providing an immediate response, Kirby considered if he wanted to ask the difference between an earl and a king, or if he should ask what exactly he planned on telling this earl.

Marx didn't wait for a reply. "Hm, I guess this means you'll have to get the food yourself," he remarked, striding to the captain's seat and sticking his tongue out thoughtfully as he tweaked the Halberd's direction. As they neared, the round yellow-blue planet also came closer into sight through the windshield.

Marx's last comment, however, entirely distracted Kirby. "I'm not going with you? To talk to the earl?" he asked anxiously.

"Oh no," Marx laughed, "you might mess it up."

"I wouldn't mess it up," Kirby protested, well aware of how childish he sounded, but uncaring of that fact. For the moment, at least. Marx couldn't just drop him in the middle of a completely different planet. He had absolutely no experience with anything outside of Dreamland, besides the Halberd and empty space. Just under a year ago, his entire world had consisted wholly of Dreamland's town and fields. Since Marx had told him the truth about the immensity of the universe, he'd obtained a certain level of comfort with the concept of it - but he was no where near comfortable with its _reality._

By Marx's lack of response, he seemed to have disregarded this fact entirely. "Consider it an honor. You are Kirby, the Great Hero of Food. Bringer of Snacks. Without you, we would surely starve."

"We could go talk to the earl, then get food," suggested Kirby.

"Except you'd mess it up then we wouldn't get food."

"Mess it up how?"

Marx waved a hand dismissively. "Just look at the intercom thing! I had this amazing excuse for the woman and you almost interrupted me. If I hadn't got you to shut up, we'd be floating bits of dust in space by now."

"That wouldn't have happened if you'd told me you were planning on acting like a messenger!"

"Because 'you have one minute before you get shot down and die' definitely puts me in the mood to explain my idea," retorted Marx sarcastically. "While I'm at it, would you like my entire life story?"

Kirby hesitated. Admittedly, Marx had a point there. But... "You could tell me now so I won't mess up with the earl."

"Or I could not." Luckily, he seemed to find the argument more amusing, granting Kirby more confidence and sparing him the imminent danger of pushing Marx too far. Unluckily, it meant Marx wasn't taking him seriously at all.

"If you told me what you were doing, there'd be no problem!" Kirby lashed back.

"If _you_ knew what _you_ were doing, there'd be no problem!"

"What-? What am _I_ doing?"

"Food shopping!" Marx threw up both hands happily and giggled.

"No, Marx, seriously!" There was no way he was serious. He had to be kidding. But this was Marx, and Kirby was no idiot. "I don't know what to do!" he moaned. "What if they try to kick me out, since I'm from a different planet? Or... or... I dunno..." he hunted for words, sure that there was a million different ways this could go wrong.

"Or don't take our currency or don't speak our language? Myep, I'm sure you can figure it out." Marx smiled brightly and his attention reverted back to the Halberd.

"Wait, currency? And... Marx, there aren't... other _languages_, are there? Marx, listen to me!" The greater fear of the unknown bolstered Kirby's bravery with Marx, and he grabbed the other's sleeve angrily.

"Of course there are!" Marx snapped back, shoving Kirby away. With a brief, annoyed glare, he added, "Che; you're so irritating. Ignorant or not, you can figure _something _out for yourself, can't you? Now shut up. I'm busy." Without waiting for an answer, he turned back to the controls. Within seconds, he began humming a cheerful tune to himself, seeming to have completely forgotten his annoyance.

Kirby bit his bottom lip lightly to restrain any further questions. The confirmation that other languages existed was none too comforting... And he could only imagine stepping through gates (that, in his mind, were fashioned after Dreamland's gates) and coming face-to-face with a citizen who jabbered at him with jumbled words and phrases he didn't understand. What could he do if that happened? Find someone who spoke his language?

Suddenly it occurred to him that the earl might even speak another language - surely Marx didn't know another? ... Or did he?

Kirby groaned quietly to himself.

Subdued, he watched as the surface of the planet grew nearer and nearer. Even his gnawing worries could not prevent the curiosity that welled in his chest. Stepping lightly so as not to disturb, he approached the windshield, stopping at his companion's side - though at a safe distance. To his soundless awe, things began to take shape on the yellow skin of the planet: muddy greens and grays seeped into existence in patches. The Halberd shifted ever lower, descended into the clouds and then beneath them, soared like a giant predator over landscapes that rushed by as soon as they took shape. Shrubs, dark brown and gray brush, scraggly trees, small lakes of off-color, steaming water.

Kirby had seen this process only once before, in reverse: when they had left Dreamland five months prior, when he had watched the lush green grass and wood huts fall away through his tear-blurred eyes. The experiences felt drastically different. In one, the Halberd did not seem to be moving - rather, it was Dreamland that had fallen away, leaving him disconcerted and detached, broken off from reality and time.

Now, he felt the opposite effect. Nashira was solid, unmovable: it was he who moved closer, who sought to land on the steady ground. The sight of the sun-baked sands below alone provided him again with a sense of time, showed him it was day, and that Nashira was not timeless, like space. He'd almost forgotten the cycle of day and night. On the Halberd, there was only sleeping and awake.

It was as if the clock hands had begun to move again.

The Halberd decelerated. In the distance, a walled city emerged from the foggy yellow horizon. The walls were dark grey, made of stone. Outside the city was parked several other ships, though none as large as the Halberd. They all were of squatter builds, designed to carry cargo rather than fight. A nearby path wound by the ships and led to the gate.

Kirby's anxiety returned full force. This wasn't just going beyond Dreamland's borders. This was an entirely different _planet_, and he must face it virtually alone. Silently, he allowed his finger tips to rest on the back of Marx's hand; a gesture which was thankfully ignored.

When the Halberd reached nearly a crawl in the air, only a mile or so from the sprawling city, Kirby could see the soldiers that the operator had spoken of, standing off the path and beside an empty spot between two ships.

Marx stuck out his tongue in concentration. "Alrighty - landing. About that..." His eyes hunted over the controls, his hands occasionally ghosting over a button or dial only to retreat. His confusion at last prompted Kirby to speak;

"You know how to land, right?"

"It's just taking off in reverse."

Not the most reassuring answer. Kirby rephrased, "Have you ever done it before?"

"Sure!"

After another moment of thinking, Kirby corrected himself, "Have you ever _landed_ a ship before?"

Marx shot him a withering look. "I've done that too. A few times. I crashed the last time!" He looked a little too delighted about this fact.

"Oh." _Great_. Kirby glanced around hurriedly for something to hold on to, which Marx managed to notice.

"Hey!" he snapped surlily. "I'm not _that_ bad. Look, I got us over a good spot... This is probably fine. The real problem," he continued, fiddling with the levers, "is that Meta Knight designed this ship badly. Oh, it's great for explosions and destruction, yes - but landing? Pfft. I mean, how am I supposed to see where I'm going? Could be landing _on_ the city and I wouldn't notice."

"Could we be?" Kirby said worriedly.

"Mm, maybe not. Those soldiers better get out of the way, though. This conversation with the earl will _not_ go well if the first thing I say is 'oh hey, I squished-'"

A grating thump of metal cut off Marx's words. The jester cringed and stopped the Halberd.

Kirby sucked in a breath. "Whatwasthat?"

Marx laughed. "Oops. Um. I'll just... scoot over a little bit..."

"Did we hit another ship?!"

The Halberd hovered up, and moved over the slightest bit. "One thing Meta Knight did right was making the hull so strong," Marx nodded, "we probably don't even have a dent."

_So, yes, we hit another ship._

The Halberd began to lower again. For the second time, there was a dull thump, and the ship jolted to a halt, eliciting a loud cackle from Marx. "Ahah - I can't drive! This is like bumper ships!"

"Marx!" Kirby groaned, now clutching his face. "That's other people's property! Just because we don't get dents doesn't mean they won't!"

"You act like I'm doing it on purpose," answered Marx, sounding wounded.

"Are you?!"

"Of course not. It's their fault for parking so close together. Now they'll be more careful in the future, and they have _me_ to thank."

"Can we please land now?" Kirby said in a small voice. 'Hopefully without damaging any other ships,' he added privately to himself.

"What, you don't like when I do _this_?" Marx jerked the wheel, and the Halberd lurched to the side. Crunching metal resounded through the deck. Kirby had to latch onto the back of Marx's chair to stop from falling over.

Kirby paled. "No, I don't! Seriously, stop!"

"Oops!" Wheel twisted the other direction.

"Marx!"

"OH MY GOD WHY DOES THIS KEEP HAPPENING?" With one hand, Marx pulled his hair in agony; with the other, he directed the Halberd to crash into the merchant ship again.

"They're gonna arrest-"

"I just can't control it!"

_CRASH! _

Kirby dove at the wheel. His hands slammed down next to Marx's and when the jester next tried to jerk the wheel, he resisted the movement. "They are going to think you are a lunatic," he said sternly, looking back over his shoulder to glare at Marx.

He sneered back. "Then I can plead insanity if they charge us for destroying property."

"That might not be far off from the truth."

"So they'll believe me," Marx said, looking pleased with himself. "Now... Give me my steering wheel back."

"Don't hit any more ships."

Smirking, Marx reclined back in the chair. "Technically, I only hit two. Multiple times."

"You know what I mean."

Something of the mischievous spark in his purple eyes was suddenly suppressed. Not gone entirely, but rather darkened through a translucent window. "Oh, I'm sorry," he mocked, a grin twisting across his face, "were you being serious? Were _you..._ ordering _me?_"

Even if Kirby hadn't become so attuned to the signs evidencing Marx's sadism, he easily would have known this wasn't something he should argue... not with that tone.

He let go of the wheel as if it had burned him. "Sorry."

Marx looked faintly disappointed, but pried no further.

The remaining few yards that the Halberd had to descend went smoothly. Marx then shut off the warship, which silenced the comforting hum of the five engines.

For a few seconds it was deadly silent, then the jester smiled mildly, standing from his chair. "So. These soldiers don't know about you, and I would prefer to keep it that way. It's just more work to have to explain you too. _I'll_ go with them, _you_ wait here until we're long gone. They probably won't search the ship, so you don't have to worry about being found. If so... well, come up with a good lie or something."

He strode towards the exit, clearly done talking.

"Wait," Kirby hurried after him, "you can't help me at all?"

"Go to the city," Marx rolled his eyes. "You can figure it out from there. You're not hopeless. I think." As if seriously contemplating this statement, he studied Kirby carefully before shrugging and dialing in the code to open the hatch to leave.

"Wait, but-"

He shoved him back. "Ah ah - can't let you be seen." He dug coins out of his pocket and dropped them on the floor. "There. There's money. Remember - wait 'til I'm _out of sight._" He pointed at Kirby meaningfully. "You are my top secret weapon."

Kirby paused. "I'm a weapon?"

"You're whatever I want you to be. But, I couldn't think of a better word. Stop asking stupid questions." With this affectionate final remark, Marx pushed Kirby away again and opened the hatch before strutting out. As the door closed, Kirby heard him say something about being used to messenger ships, not battleships, and bemoaning how awful they were to land. Kirby didn't even know if messenger ships existed. Sighing, he collected the coins from the floor.

Then, from the windshield, he watched as Marx and the soldiers departed. It was an unusual sight: six or seven soldiers clad in grim gray armor with long silver swords at their sides. Even their helmets covered any variation in hair color they might have. Marx, meanwhile, was a rainbow of color compared to them. The black of his hair was mostly hidden by his blue and red jester hat, so only the purple tips and bits of black stuck out at odd angles. In addition, his multicolored outfit stood out like a banner.

It was with a deep sense of unease that he watched him walk away. He didn't doubt that Marx could worm himself out of any situation he'd gotten himself into - but he _did_ doubt his own ability to do just that. Mostly because he morally hated to resort to Marx's tricks and deceit - not that he had any ability in that department anyway. As Marx loved to tell him, he made a horrible liar. This was something Kirby interpreted as a compliment or an insult depending on the situation (not that he would admit it to himself later if he found himself wishing to be a better liar). He tried to pride himself on his inability to lie or omit the truth, but this was one such situation where it might be helpful. There was no telling what questions he might asked for being a foreigner, and what if the truth would not be favorable?

The silence disturbed him - just to provide sound he walked around the Halberd and listened to his own footsteps while he waited: from the control room, the hallway, the kitchen, the bedroom, storage rooms...

When he completed several laps, he peered out the windshield again.

Marx and the soldiers had vanished within the city gates, likely several minutes ago. If any time was ideal, it would be now. Squeezing the coins in his pocket anxiously, Kirby opened the door and stepped out.

Without Marx at his side, the sensation of being extraordinarily small and alone overcame him and tethered him firmly to the very place he had stepped off the ramp. Forfive months he had not seen nor spoken to another soul. Even his dreams, infrequent and obscure as they were, had begun to confine themselves within the Halberd's metal walls.

Kirby's next reaction, then, was merely to look. He squinted at the clear blue sky; a forgotten sight, then lowered his gaze and studied the city. It was enclosed with large stone walls, blocking his view. The wooden gate, however, was not far, flanked by two enormous stone towers and watched over by two guards in full chain mail armor and gleaming silver swords. A wide dirt path, marred by two ruts from the crossings of wagons, weaved through the dunes before meeting with the gate.

The open space was intimidating after so long in a ship. The city would be better, Kirby thought to himself; to be inside the stone walls, where the sky would not be so visible and the horizon nothing more than blank stone.

With this in mind, he hurried onto the path and followed a group of traveling merchants towards the gate. The merchants were heavily laden with sacks upon their backs, which clattered with their wares. Each seemed to sell something different, from cast iron pots, to heavy wool clothes, to various spices. They talked cheerfully amongst themselves and Kirby found himself falling silently in step behind them, happy to follow their lead but unwilling to engage in their loud conversation. They didn't seem to notice him. He, however, noticed how dramatically he stood out.

The merchants all had light chestnut skin, and friendly dark eyes. They wore simple - possibly leather - outfits with multiple layers, despite the heat. Meanwhile, Kirby had bright blue eyes, sun-deprived pale skin, and blonde hair. Not to mention his bright red T-shirt and blue jeans.

As such, he was nearly slinking in their shadows by the time they reached the gate. 'Sticking out' was the worst thing someone could do in Dreamland... He had no reason to believe any other place would be different.

The merchants seemed to recognize the two guards, and the group started up a jovial conversation. After much back and forth exchange of light-hearted bantering, the guards finally opened the gates and gestured the merchants through with pats on their backs.

Kirby glimpsed possibly one of the most frightening sights as the merchants were ushered in - the enormous, busting city, with a crowd of people so thick he couldn't imagine how the merchants had managed to squeeze into that crammed space. It wasn't that the city was small - but that there were _so many people._ He heard the rumble of hundreds of voices speaking at once, mixed with the squeaking, shrieking, and barking of animals, and the rattling of carts, and perhaps a hundred other sounds that couldn't be distinguished with the overall cacophony of noise.

Then the thick wooden gates shut in front of his stunned eyes. The sound ceased. The guards surveyed him oddly.

"What're you wanting in the city for?" one asked, not unkindly.

Still, Kirby shrank back a little. Surely they were now thinking of how strange he looked - how unusual - for they had the same chestnut-like skin as the merchants, and Kirby was quite clearly different than them. Was there a punishment for being of a different planet? "I'm sorry," he choked out, though he didn't know what he was apologizing for.

"Are y'lost?"

"I j-just... I need food. I mean, supplies and stuff."

"That ship yours?" the second guard asked abruptly. Kirby glanced back to where he was gesturing.

"It's the Halberd," Kirby nodded uneasily. _Was something wrong with it?_

The second guard chuckled. "Was watching you come in. Wish I had something like that." He whistled and grinned. "Lucky man, if you wern't such a awful pilot. Hope ya have the money to pay for that." He clapped Kirby's shoulder, eliciting a small flinch.

"Y-yeah," Kirby responded.

"A'ight, I see you're in a hurry. Here ya are."

Both guards turned and pushed open the wooden doors. Once more that crowded, alien world opened before him. And this time, Kirby stumbled into it. The wooden doors shut behind him with decided finality.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Whelp, so… I intended this chapter to be purely about Meta Knight -and someone else maybe- but seeing that I have not edited a single word on our upcoming Meta Knight chapter, that didn't quite happen. And um. I might have forgotten about this story for a little bit. Have more Marx and Kirby. I promise we'll change things up next chapter x]

**Chapter 2**

_Both guards turned and pushed open the wooden doors. Once more that crowded, alien world opened before him. And this time, Kirby stumbled into it. The wooden doors shut behind him with decided finality._

The city was at once overwhelming; on all sides, he was jolted and shoved. No matter how much he tried to shrink into himself, the smells of the market and masses invaded his nose, sweaty tanned arms bumped him, vociferous bantering and shouting assaulted his ears. There were _so many people_. Even with how large the walled city was - likely two or three times the size of Dreamland - it was crammed with people, animals, carts, and stands from wall to wall.

They were all going somewhere, doing something. Kirby realized with a start he had things to do as well. But how could he possibly get through this enormous crowd to find what he wanted, forget buying it? His only consolation was that nearly everyone seemed to be speaking the right language. Kirby suspected Marx had lied when he'd claimed other languages existed - until a group of cloaked travelers brushed past him, chattering excitedly with unfamiliar syllables and inflections.

Yes, everything was overwhelming - terrifying, even - but at the same time it was... _amazing._ Dreamland would never have this amount of diversity - or such great numbers of people, all in one place.

Foods he had never heard of were advertised from wooden stands, clothes of all colors and types were worn by people equally unique - some that did not even seem entirely human. And yes - a variety of coins passed from hand to hand, none which were Dreamland coins.

If only it weren't so crowded, Kirby may have really enjoyed the experience. As it was, he had to fight down his growing claustrophobia while being shunted down the dirt street by the pulsing mob.

"S-sir?" Kirby tapped a nearby man on the shoulder. "Please, do the venders accept-?" But the man twisted away and disappeared amongst the others without the slightest glance at Kirby, as though he hadn't heard him at all. Possibly, he hadn't. The level of noise in the city had to be illegal.

Someone shoved him and he bumped against a tall woman carrying a sack of potatoes. "S-sorry," he apologized, but she hadn't noticed. Hastily, Kirby struggled to reach one of the city walls, thinking perhaps it'd be easier to avoid the current of people with his back pressed against the cold stone. There, at least, he'd have a chance to think about the situation.

After much uncomfortable weaving and stumbling, he slipped between two vender's stands and wedged himself in the cool shade they provided. He sighed. Almost subconsciously, his eyes closed and he slumped against the wall. Okay, this was even more exhausting than he expected, and the ordeal was made no better with the sun beating down from above. Dreamland's sun never had been that hot. Not that Kirby could remember.

"Would you like some water?" a voice _very_ close suddenly offered.

Kirby's eyes snapped open. With a yelp, he tried to leap back only for his back to collide with the wooden post of another stand. Wincing, he rubbed his back and eyed the source of the sound.

A girl, perhaps a year or so younger than him, was leaning out of the side of the stand and gazing inquisitively at him.

Her skin was a light hazel color, darkened slightly in the shade. Her black hair was bound in a long braid that she'd slung over her shoulder, but some of her tresses had come loose. She tossed her head to get them out of her concerned eyes. "Water?" she held out a cup of clear liquid.

"Jeez..." Slowly, his heart rate began to calm again.

She laughed. "You looked like you were going to pass out. I thought you might want a drink."

"Who are you?" he demanded.

Something in the question threw her off. Her smile faltered. Kirby's eyes narrowed, his fists clenched subconsciously. Why did she talk to him so suddenly like that? Why did it bother her if he wanted to know who she was?

She cleared her throat. "I'm Khayla. I didn't mean to scare you." If anything, she looked embarrassed, and maybe a little upset. Her dark eyes gained a steely tint though, and her next words were stiffer. "I won't bother you, then."

She retreated back into the stand, setting the water down and sorting through what looked like garlic plants. Now that Kirby was paying attention, he saw that she was not alone. An older man and woman - likely her parents - stood towards the front of the stand and dealt with the customers. The girl - Khayla - she clearly worked in the back. To help her parents, likely. A family business.

Only after she'd turned away did Kirby register how tense he'd become. And for what? He cringed. He'd just been incredibly rude, hadn't he? No wonder she'd stopped talking to him - gods only knew what his expression must've been at that moment. She'd just... surprised him.

"Um, Khayla?"

She glanced over. "Hm?"

"I'm sorry... I didn't mean to... You surprised me. I didn't mean to be so rude."

She raised an eyebrow. "So, what's your name?" Grabbing the water cup, she offered it out to him once more. Quietly he accepted and sipped politely.

"I'm Kirby. Really, I'm sorry."

"You're new to the third galaxy, aren't you?"

"Third galaxy?"

"It's this strip of four solar systems under the same neutral laws. We're not really our own galaxy, but..." She shrugged. "It feels like it sometimes."

"Err, yes... how did you know?"

"Your eyes, of course." When confusion and a strange revulsion crossed Kirby's expression, Khayla hurriedly added, "blue eyes are very uncommon. Especially when they're so light."

"They are?" replied Kirby uneasily.

"Sure. Even if travelers have light skin like yours, they hardly ever have that color blue eyes. Where are you from?"

Somehow, he managed to produce the word without thinking much about it; "Dreamland."

"That's a planet?" Khayla scrunched up her nose.

"Oh, no - it's a town."

"So, which planet? I might know it, even if you're far away. I know a lot of planets."

"I... uhh... it's earth."

She laughed. "Well, yeah, but _which_ earth?"

"There's more than one?" he asked. Somehow, though, he failed to be very surprised. Everything already was so new. Too much so: privately he wished to be back on the Halberd, just so he could think and process all that he had seen and heard.

"Kirby, everyone refers to his or her own planet as earth. It's just like saying 'home:' it's a general idea to cover someone's native planet." She seemed confused that he didn't already understand that.

"Oh..."

"You don't know the name?"

"No."

"How did you get here? Isn't that programmed to show up in maps or something on spaceships?"

"It probably is," Kirby said hesitantly. "My friend flew us here. I wasn't paying much attention when we were leaving."

"Should have guessed. I think you're too young to fly anyway..."

"Uh, yeah..." No need to mention that Marx wasn't more than a year older than him and, if Khayla was correct, was probably also too young to be flying a ship. _There were rules for that kind of thing?_ After an awkward silence, he supplied, "Dreamland isn't so big on trade between planets. I've never needed to know my planet's name." It was something he'd have to ask Marx later.

"I guess not."

"Erm... are you busy right now?" Since he had no idea where to start, perhaps she could give him an idea of where to go and what to get.

Her eyebrows shot up. "No! I mean, just one minute." With the speed of a rabbit running from the Dovahkiin, she hurriedly stuffed all the garlic-plants into a sack and turned to her parents. "I'll be back before nightfall," she promised each, in-between interruptions from customers. Kirby realized with a start that she had mistaken his question as an invitation to come with him.

"So, where are we going?" she asked after climbing over the wooden slate and joining Kirby.

Taken aback, he answered, "Well, I have to buy a lot of food, like I said before. But I don't recognize most of the foods, and I only have Dreamland money..." He dug out some of the coins from his pocket to show her.

"Wow." She twirled one coin in her fingers. "I've never seen money like this! This isn't pure gold, is it?"

"Yeah, it is."

Renewed amazement widened her eyes as she gazed at him. "Kirby, you're rich! Do you realize how much this is?" Then she winced and eyed the crowd nearby to ensure they hadn't heard her exclamation. Pickpockets were not uncommon.

"How much?" an equally bewildered Kirby asked.

She whistled softly. "Maybe you should put the rest of those coins away. We can talk with a banker. C'mon, I know a trustworthy one. Or at least, mostly trustworthy."

With that, she dragged him back into the mass of people. He was just as confused and lost as before, but she knew exactly where she was going, and had mastered the art of cutting through crowds. After several dizzyingly sharp turns and much rushing under the beating sun, they halted in front of a squat, windowless building. Instead of a door, the building's entrance was decorated with shimmery beads. They slipped inside. Though the building seemed poorly designed from the outside - merely blocks of sun-baked mud - it was both cool and quiet in the interior.

Only one man lurked in the back of the store, with hunched shoulders and sharp, narrow eyes. Everything in the room was adorned with dark purple, from banners, to the carpeting, to the sheet that was draped over a counter. The man stood behind this counter, inspecting his latest customers. Even he wore a dark purple cloak lined with silver. Marx would have liked the store, Kirby thought with a shadow of a smile.

Seeing how Kirby was eyeing the decorations, Khayla explained, "Purple dye is the most expensive, and hardest to get. It shows riches and royalty." She laughed a little. "I bet you could buy a purple cloak with one of those coins."

Kirby raised an eyebrow. Perhaps he _shouldn't_ tell Marx about the store. If he learned that purple meant _royalty_...

"One of what coins?" the banker demanded. His voice matched his eyes in steel, both which contradicted sharply with his slow movements and bowed figure. This was a man accustomed to people trying to swindle him, and therefore responded to every statement with a suspicious authoritativeness. Also a man whom had spent one too many hours bent over precious gems and coins in examination.

"Don't scare him off, Ananke," Khayla surlily responded. "Maybe you'd get more business if you weren't so mean."

"Is that so? It doesn't seem to be working for you."

Khayla flushed angrily, but was wise enough not to retort. "He's a jerk, but at least he'll be pretty honest," she muttered to Kirby. "Go on, show him the coin."

The man, evidently called Ananke, swiped the coin as soon as Kirby held it out. Those critical eyes examined it carefully while his fingers turned it several times over. Not a single nick or smudge was missed under his gaze. At last, he weighed it thoughtfully in his palm. Whatever he found clearly pleased him - not that he smiled, by any means.

"I can offer you 2,500 cers. That's 500 more than the next banker will give you."

Kirby frowned. "2,500 sirs?"

"Cer," Khayla corrected hastily. "Kirby, that's amazing! How did you get so much money?"

"It's just Dreamland currency... How am I going to carry that many coins?"

"Notes," Ananke corrected. "Two one-thousands and five one-hundreds. Or I can give you twenty-five hundreds. I'm not giving you 2,500 cers."

"Sorry, what?" Kirby said. Were those supposed to be the same amounts? And didn't he just say the coin was worth that much?

"Cash money," Khayla explained. "it's kind of like paper, but they're called notes."

"So... it's the same amount?"

"What do you want? Two one-thousands and five one-hundreds, or twenty-five hundreds? " the annoyed banker scowled.

"Uhh..."

"Twenty-five hundreds," Khayla told him.

Ignoring any further conversation between the two, Ananke quickly set about counting out money.

"Kirby, you're filthy rich," Khayla whispered.

"Didn't know I was," muttered Kirby back.

"No wonder your town is called Dreamland."

"Do you think this is enough to buy all the food I'll need?"

"Should be, unless you plan to make a tower out of tacos or something. Is there anything specific you're looking for?"

"Um, I didn't recognize most of the stuff here, but I did see a bread stand." And what a relief it had been, to see something at last familiar. Many of the stands he'd passed on the way to the banker's sold a plethora of items he'd never seen nor heard of before. He wasn't even sure they were edible until he saw a customer buy a strange magenta 'fruit' and bite into it. Marx would be interested in the foreign foods, though - maybe he could buy one of everything. Kirby addressed Khayla, "could I afford it if I bought-?"

"Here," Ananke interrupted. "Twenty-five hundreds." A large stack of rectangular blue paper was held in his outstretched hand. Dubiously, Kirby accepted the stack and stared. Each piece of paper had a complicated stamp on with various black twirly designs and symbols he didn't recognize. Behind the stamp was a faded picture of a pale yellow planet - Nashira.

"So what were you asking?" Khayla asked as they left the store, hastily adding on that he should put away his money.

Kirby tore his gaze away and pocketed it. "Will this be enough to buy one of everything?"

Her dark eyebrows shot up. "One of everything? You're kidding, right?"

"No..."

She laughed. "It'd be very hard to, Kirby. This market is bigger than you think. It would take you days."

"Is it?" he said quietly, looking around at the chaos. It was large enough already in his opinion.

Noticing that he was still serious, Khayla said, "We'll start with the bread first. Then we can go looking at the other stands."

How she navigated the winding streets and lines of stalls, Kirby didn't know - it was a marvel to him. Yet somehow she lead him to a vender selling freshly baked bread. The loafs were still warm, and smelled strangely sweet for bread.

She greeted the vender cheerfully - did she know everyone? - and he responded with a good natured offer on his bread.

"Not today," she chuckled, gesturing at Kirby. "Kirby here's buying today."

"A foreigner, eh?" the vender grunted, scrutinizing Kirby.

In Dreamland, that title had a very negative connotation...

Something in his countenance must've given away his unease, for Khayla placed her hand on his wrist.

"Are you okay?"

His fingers clenched slightly; he stumbled over an apology, "I'm fine. I need bread."

"You're at the right spot," answered the bemused vender. "Better make your pick before the others get sore at you."

A hasty glance over his shoulder revealed to Kirby a line of impatient customers. He hurriedly purchased a sufficient amount, then allowed Khayla to lead him away.

"Let's get a cart," Khayla suggested, eyeing his armful of bread.

They soon found a stand of four wheeled wooden carts with handles- there had to be a stand for anything and everything here, Kirby thought - and he bought it using one of the hundred-notes. In return, he received another large handful of bronze coins and strange looks from the seller for his copious amount of money.

"I've never felt so rich," Kirby admitted in an undertone. "I don't even know if I like it."

"I'd easily relieve you of that trouble." Khayla held out a hand hopefully.

"Sure." Kirby paused so he could dig into his pocket, retrieve a few Dreamland coins, and hand them to Khayla.

Her eyes nearly popped in amazement. "I wasn't serious."

"What?"

She choked on her breath from having so much money in her palms, and hurriedly tried to shove it back at Kirby. "I can't take your money, Kirby! Gods, I was kidding!"

"I mean, you can have it..." he trailed off. "I won't need it all anyway."

"Oh no, no." Shaking her head, she forced him to take them back. "I can't accept that much from you - even if you do have a lot more."

Reluctantly Kirby pocketed the coins. It was not as if he really needed it: Khayla, clearly, had a much greater need than him. But it wasn't as if he could force her to take anything. Maybe he'd sneak a Dreamland coin in her parent's stand later...

A couple hours had passed and Kirby's pale skin had long ago begun to burn with the heat of the sun when the cart was at last piled high with foods of all sorts (at one point, they'd rearranged the items, since the bread started to get crushed at the bottom).

Kirby planned to walk with her back to her parent's stand, in order to set a coin where they'd find it for her generosity and kindness. Khayla had a different idea.

'C'mere Kirby - before we go back. There's one more place I want to show you."

"I think this is enough."

"Just one more place," Khayla promised. "You'll like it."

"Is it shaded?" Kirby asked hopefully.

"I'm sure we can find a shaded seat," she assured him. She set off down a wide alley that branched off from the road. He hurried after, not wanting to lose sight of her. They came upon a small stand at the end of the alley, where a long line of people waited. "Lefse," she told him, looking very happy as she got in the back of the line.

"Leff-suh?" he repeated.

"Yup! Lefse. It's one of the few good desserts that actually comes from Nashira."

"What is it?" Kirby asked, trying to peek around the line.

"Well, it doesn't _sound_ too great, but it's a potato kind of tortilla that you spread chocolate and brown sugar and stuff on."

Kirby envisioned a potato with chocolate stuffed in the middle and cringed.

"It's better than it sounds," Khayla quickly repeated.

And after making one, Kirby realized how right Khayla was. They'd found a place to sit on a bench in the shade, and within minutes Kirby had entirely devoured the food.

"Wow," Khayla said, raising an eyebrow. "Hungry?"

"Hungrier than I expected," he admitted, looking back to the lefse stand with a hopeful look.

"If you eat another one, you'll make yourself sick," Khayla said flatly.

"I might be willing to make that bet..."

She snorted and it was quiet for a bit. Not necessarily a good quiet too: though Khayla was still eating, Kirby felt inclined to continue the conversation, only he didn't know what to say.

"So." Khayla chewed for a moment and swallowed. "Did you just stop by to stock up on food? Or are you staying longer?"

"Just food... I sort of travel a lot now, so we'll probably leave soon."

"Then you must see a lot of planets. I wish I could travel like that, but... with the war going on, we're not allowed to leave. Not that my parents have a spaceship anyway: they're much too expensive. Hey, you must have a spaceship!"

"Yeah; the Halberd. It's not really mine though." He paused. Never had he considered the Halberd's ownership, seeing that it truly was Meta Knight's. If, however, both he and Marx had stolen it like they had, would it make it theirs on equal shares, even if only Marx piloted? "Well, I guess I co-own it," he corrected hesitantly.

"That's so neat."

"If you want, maybe I could show you. Just take a loop around the planet or something." Why did he say that? He could make no such promise. Marx certainly wouldn't be jumping on the idea of showing off the Halberd to a random civilian...

To his great relief, Khayla turned down the offer. "No; thank you, though. I know it sounds a little weird, but I think I like it better with my feet on the ground. That way I can just imagine what it'd be like to be an adventurer like you. I'm too worried that if I really ever flew in a spaceship, it wouldn't be exactly like what I imagine. I'm sorry, that probably sounds stupid - wanting something but not really wanting to do it."

"No, I think I see what you mean."

Thick silence descended. It was amazing to Kirby that there could be such a silence when the sounds of the market buzzed all around them.

He wished to supply a more thoughtful remark, but digging through his repertoire of words, nothing that he thought would be really profound - or at least make Khayla feel less insecure - surfaced. Kirby's thoughts were governed by his own doubts. Was there normally such long silences? Often on the Halberd Kirby would not talk for long periods of time, but the quiet was generally appreciated - else Marx would fill the gaps by talking both to Kirby and to himself, not requiring responses aside from the ones he gave to his own statements. Kirby knew this was very different. It had just been too long since he'd had a conversation with anyone but Marx. Going around the market had at least given something for them to talk about, but now that they sat idly, he didn't know what to say.

"So, uhm, do you live here?" he prompted.

"Ya. We have a house in the second district. You already saw my parent's stand too. Their watermelons are so good - we get them fresh from this really nice trader. Do you want to go buy one for your trip?"

Quickly, he retorted, "I don't like watermelons."

"Oh." She ate the last bite of her lefse, looking away.

Kirby inwardly swore at himself. "Sorry - I mean, we can still go if you want."

"Sure, yeah!" She took up and helped him to his feet as well. Then she frowned. "Is something wrong? You look really pale..."

"It's nothing," he said, too quickly to be natural. Just memories.

"Is it the heat?" Khayla said worriedly, "Ugh, I knew lefse was a bad idea; it always makes people thirsty..."

"No, it's not that," he said quickly. "I..." A sudden shiver ran down his spine, as he sensed the other's presence even before the hands settled on his shoulders and thin fingers brushed his collar bone. As if _he_ had been summoned by mere thought.

Kirby turned to stone. A noose tightened around his lungs, instantly choking off the words he was about to speak. Words that now seemed foolishly unimportant.

"Hey hey hey," Marx uttered with lethal softness. "And who might _this_ be?"


End file.
